


Hope

by archeolatry



Series: Three Things Remain [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A soupçon of crack if you will, And maybe a sprinkle of crack, Angel Wings, Castiel's Wings, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fallen Angels, Fallen Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, M/M, Morning After, Newly Human Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry
Summary: "Right now three things remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love." -- 1 Corinthians 13:13Dean and Cas have some regrets. But only some.------Their dumbest, Plan Z, last-ditch play to save the world —again— had worked. His body survived being the Pass-Around Patty for a half-dozen angels. The Love of his Life decided to stay with him for good. And, just for a change, last night a celestial being had saidhisname during sex.Dean smiled. He was beyond lucky.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was shocked awake by a sharp major G chord, blaring loud even through his closed bedroom door. 

**_“I want your love...”_ **

His bleary eyes opened to see Cas still passed out beside him, his face buried in a pillow. 

**_“Don’t make it tough, I’ll put away my pride...”_ **

Cas seemed unaffected by the onslaught. From what he could remember, Cas was a heavy sleeper. And given how -ahem- _eventful_ the previous day had been, he probably wasn’t coming around anytime soon.

**_“I’ve suffered and I’ve seen the liiiight...”_ **

_“What the...?”_ Dean thought with a scowl. _“Is this—is this Aerosmith?”_

**_“Baaayyyayybayyy you’re my aaaaaaaaannngellll...”_ **

Since when did Sam listen to Aerosmith? Not only Aerosmith, but ‘Permanent Vacation’-era, **sober** Aerosmith at their cheesiest and Eighties-est? 

**_“Come and make it all riiiiigghhttt…”_ **

“Ugh...fuck you, Sam,” he grumbled, burying his head under his pillow. He shimmied closer to Cas’ warmth, trying to keep the post-coital magic alive. 

**_“DonknowwhatI'mgonnadoooo…About this feeeelin’ insiiiiide…”_ **

There were two pink, angry-looking nodules between his shoulder blades; the base of his wings, Dean guessed, because the other scars that cascaded down to his lower back looked too much like feathers to be a coincidence. Those were white against Cas’ tanned skin, thin and raised; the antithesis to to stretch mark on his hip.

Those scars reminded Dean of the celestial handprint Cas had left on his shoulder; they weren’t tender at all —he would have known last night if they were— but he was still hesitant to touch them.

**_“What can I do? I'm sleeping in this bed alooooone…”_ **

_“I bet he sleeps this way because of his wings,”_ Dean mused. _“He doesn’t know they’re not there anymore.”_

A little bolt of guilt shot through Dean: he was responsible for the loss of those magnificent wings. He was the reason that Cas would have to learn to do without them...

 _‘I choose him,’_ Cas said. To God. To his face. After hundreds of thousands of years of passively observing mankind, he had chosen Dean as his favorite-ever human. Cas loved him enough to abandon his post, his grace, and even his immortality.

Dean smiled. He was beyond lucky.

Their dumbest, Plan Z, last-ditch play to save the world — _again_ — had worked. His body survived being the Pass-Around Patty for a half-dozen angels. The Love of his Life decided to stay with him for good. And, just for a change, last night a celestial being had said _**his**_ name during sex. 

**_“You’re the reason I live, you’re the reason I die…”_ **

He should make Cas breakfast. Like, a full-on breakfast, with eggs and bacon and toast and orange juice. And grape jelly for the toast. ( _“Do we even have orange juice? Or grape jelly?”_ ) Maybe they could make a thing of it. He could take Cas to the big Kroger down the highway; there had to be seventeen kinds of grape jelly there. And pie! They could buy a couple pies to see which Cas liked best...

 _“Slow your roll, Winchester,”_ he thought. There would be plenty of time for all that. If Chuck was kind, they had thirty, perhaps forty years left. It wouldn’t do any good to try to expose him to all of humanity’s finer points at once. _“No one likes a fat, jaded former angel.”_

Dean considered his own belly with a hand; even softer, now that he was forty. Christ, he might actually have to try some of Sam’s rabbit food. No way he was gonna go running, though. 

**_“Come and save me to-night, come and save me to-night...”_ **

A lascivious grin curled his mouth. Sex was a good workout. Got the blood pumping. Burned calories. And that, he knew, he could introduce Cas to without one damn bit of guilt. Hell, Cas had moved Dean’s head away before he’d even gotten to introduce him to the wonder of blowjobs. 

He licked his lips. _“Shower first.”_ He made a mental list: Shower, change these sheets, nibble on those thighs. ( _“Also: buy more sheets.”_ ) Maybe even soap Cas up, get him nice and clean… How long could his knees hold out on tile?

Sam was already awake, though. Dammit. Could he just—

**_“There'll be no strings to bind your hands…”_ **

This…this was no longer Aerosmith. 

**_“Not if my love can't bind your heart…”_ **

Why did this song sound familiar? From like a show or a movie or something?

**_“And there’s no need to take a stand...”_ **

His neurons lazily engaged in his upstairs brain. Food and sex were easy to think about before coffee- the rest of it, not so much. It was a movie, right? Didn’t they _just_ see this, pre-apocalypse? 

He absentmindedly scratched his balls with one hand, picked at the crusts in the corners of his eyes with the other. He had been so used to waking up alone in this bed that he didn’t quite register that some decorum might be in order. 

_“And this is what you fell for, Cas,”_ he thought. _“Probably shoulda had a courting period before you traded in your angel w—”_

Dean’s eyes snapped for a few seconds' worth of recognition before his features melted into a death glare. He sprung from the bed—Cas or no Cas—and slipped on the Dead Guy Robe hanging on the back of his door. 

“I’m gonna kill ‘im,” he muttered.

 

Sam sat at the kitchen table, sipping at a cup of coffee and reading a thick, leather-bound volume from their library. His phone sat cradled in the dock of their portable speaker.

“Mornin’ Sam,” Dean said flatly.

“Morning, Dean,” Sam replied, not looking up. “Sleep okay?”

**_“Just call me an-gel of the mor-ning, annngelll...”_ **

Dean nodded his head; he was grateful for the gentle hazing, but would have been a bit more grateful after, say, 9am. “New playlist?”

“Yuuup.” Sam sounded the ‘p’ with an extra _pop_.

**_“Just touch my cheek before you leave me, bay-beee...”_ **

Dean looked at the phone long enough to find and mash the Mute button. The playlist had no title, but was three hours long and spanned the range of popular music: “Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel”...“Angel from Montgomery”... Hell, he even threw “Centerfold” in there. 

“I detect a theme.” Dean smiled mirthlessly. “Music’s a little loud, doncha think?”

“Oh?” Sam shot Dean a look that Dean called ‘Bitchface #5’ with a side of bleary, reddened eyes. “You’re giving me a lecture on ‘loud’ now?”

Dean’s grin widened—for real this time. He stood a little taller, his chest puffed with pride. “What can I say? I got the moves. You might wanna invest in some earplugs, Sammy.”

“I _used_ earplugs,” Sam said pointedly. “And a pillow, and a white noise video called ‘Rainforest Lullabye’.”

“All right, well...ya know...” Dean shrugged, chastised. “Cas is kinda new to this whole—”

“It wasn’t Cas.”

Dean’s mouth gawped open, then closed. “Uhm...exactly,uh...how much _did_ you hear?”

“Too much,” Sam huffed. “Let’s put it this way: I’ve never heard you say his name in _quite_ that tone before.”

Dean swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. 

Sam punched at the book with his index finger. “Right now I’m looking for any silencing spells or warding. I’ll ask Cas if he knows any when he’s up. Otherwise I’m ordering some acoustic foam for next-day delivery.” 

Dean adjusted his robe, tucking it closed, now a little less proud. “So, uh...” he cleared his throat, “next beer run’s on me, okay?”

Sam’s glance was withering. “Try the next three.”

“Next three,” Dean repeated, turning and slinking towards the hallway. “Got it.”

“Dean?”

Dean spun on his heel. “Yeah?”

A wistful smile was on Sam’s lips. “You happy?”

Dean flushed rosy pink then, suddenly bashful. His glance fell at his feet, but an unrepentant smile pulled at his mouth, dimples and all. “Yeah,” he said softly. He met eyes with Sam. “Yeah, I am.”

That smile lingered down the hallway, to their bedroom, and back under the covers. It stayed plastered on despite being pressed between Castiel’s shoulder blades, just above the base of his former wings. He even took it with him as he went back to sleep, with one hand resting easily on his lovers’ hip.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas did, in fact, know of a few silencing spells.

After a hot, brief, and entirely-too-lonely shower, he and Sam relegated themselves to the library to find a quick-fix Latin incantation from a 12th-century Italian monk-slash-alchemist. Practically a milk run, as far as spells went. 

Dean showered and dressed before making something resembling breakfast: French toast, made with the last two eggs in the bunker and the unmoldy half of a loaf of bread, served with some freezer-burnt sausage. Thank heaven there was still plenty of syrup.

Sam moved his books aside, eying the food with some reserve. Cas smiled adoringly at Dean like he’d served up manna on a chipped plate. 

They had no bacon, no orange juice, and absolutely no jelly—something that Dean _would_ remedy today. In fact, he was about the suggest a supply run-cum-road trip after his last bite when Sam piped up first.

“So, uhm, Cas...” Sam stared into the daubs of syrup on his empty plate. “Yesterday, in the field, after you...” He gestured broadly, trying to tiptoe through the particulars, “I found something.”

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean asked through his half-mouthful.

“A feather. A black feather.”

Castiel’s back petrified against his chair, arms retreating to his sides. It was as if he were suddenly turned into a pillar of salt. 

Dean placed a hand on a tensed shoulder. “Cas?”

“You saw my wings.”

The brothers shared a glance: _No lying on this one._

“Yeah.” 

“They were beautiful, Cas,” Sam added, quickly but earnestly.

Cas’ hands spread out on either side of his empty plate, flattening against the table. He took a deep, deep breath. 

Dean saw the expression on Cas’ face—the one he got when he was about to flap out. Now, with no wings to leave, his chest rose and fell shakily as he compacted further upon himself. Dean knew this face: Cas was on the verge of another panic attack. He bounded from his chair to rest both hands on Cas’ shoulders, his thumbs testing at the nape of his neck, seeing if he would reject the affection.

When he didn’t, Dean began to run those thumbs up and down his spine— slowly—waiting for the tension in Cas’ muscles to unfurl beneath his touch.

“You weren’t supposed to see them,” he said finally. 

Sam tried to catch his downcast eyes. “You don’t remember?”

“I remember falling to my knees, and the pain in my back. The next thing I knew, I was in Dean’s arms.” Castiel shook his head. “You weren’t supposed to see them.”

“Why?” Dean asked softly.

“ _Because they’re black!_ ” Cas snapped. “They’re _shameful_.” He let out a heaving, defeated sigh, before saying in a small voice, “black wings are the mark of a fallen angel.”

Dean knelt down beside Cas, placing a hand on the flat of his thigh. “You heard Chuck- you’re not fallen.” 

“Because He was kind.” Cas shook his head sadly. “Lenient, as only a truant father can be.” He took several more long, centering breaths. “Our rules —our oaths and codes— all developed to make order in His absence. My wings are,” he rolled his eyes, “ _were_ a sign of status, a—a uniform…”

“‘Your badge and gun’…” Sam repeated absently.

“But it’s _Chuck_ ,” Dean argued. “What he says goes, doesn’t it?”

“Yes and No. If He declares I’m not Fallen, then I no longer have a target on my back. Nor does Sam, nor do you.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What would they want me for?”

Cas finally regarded Sam. “Defying the Host. Aiding and abetting Lucifer. And as for Dean…”

“Contributing to the delinquency of an angel,” Dean finished. “Like accessory to murder one.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, who cares what those flying dickbags say? If you’re good with Chuck, you should be good with them. End of story.”

“It’s not about words, Dean- it’s about meaning.” Cas got _that look_ \- that longanimous, pitying look that that suggested he was too precious for the burden of the truth. It reminded Dean of Purgatory and he didn’t like it one bit. “After I raised you from Hell, my wings were burnt—blackened by the fires of the Pit. The rest of the garrison -Uriel, Hester, Inias- they all healed; their wings faded back to gray. Mine didn’t. When they saw my wings, and the favor I lavished upon you, they assumed…” 

He turned up his hands in a limp gesture. No further explanation was needed- they’d lived the rest.

“So they’re your Scarlet Letter,” Sam offered.

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “And as I drew further and further away from the influence of the Host—”

“They stayed black.” Dean swallowed hard, his eyes now falling at his shoes. He was poison. Pure poison.

He jumped to his feet as if shocked. “I should…” He gathered the empty plates and sticky cutlery- anything to make work for his hands. Anything to distract from the tightness clenching behind his sternum. He focused on the plates, then the floor beneath his feet, and found his way to the kitchen without ever raising his head. 

 

Dean dropped the dishes into the sink with a clatter. He scrubbed a hand down his face, switched his weight from foot to foot.

There was nothing and no one he couldn’t fuck up, was there? He’d abandoned his brother, leaving him soulless and alone. He’d left his mother for dead. His best friend and the love of his life was corrupted by his mere presence. He’d even managed to get him killed a few times. It was like he lived only to heap pain onto those he loved. And the one he loved most of all took the worst of it.

Cas’ voice floated in from the threshold. “Dean?”

Dean licked his lip. He stacked the plates neatly in the sink and piled the cutlery on top. He turned towards the stove and tapped at the dirty black-iron pan, making sure it was cool to the touch. It would need to be scrubbed and dried and oiled and— 

As if he could still read Dean’s thoughts, Cas placed a gentle hand on Dean’s forearm, lifting his attention from the stovetop. 

“Dean.” His eyes were bright and kind. “Any of a hundred books in this library will tell you the meaning behind black wings. Frankly, I’m surprised it never came up in your research—”

“Yeah, well you know me- I’m not much of a reader,” Dean joked, his voice cracking over the words.

“I never wanted you to see them because I’m not ashamed.” Dean’s pulse quickened under Castiel’s fingertips. “Of my actions, of my lack of faith… but never of you.”

Dean turned away from the touch. He blinked away the sting behind his eyes because godammit he was _not_ going to cry again. “Don’t say things like that, Cas…” 

He still didn’t deserve Cas—angel or no. All that unconditional love and patience; not when his own caustic heart had been so full of shame and doubt.

“Dean…?” He side-stepped between stove and sink, forcing himself into the hunter’s path. His head tilted just so, and Dean was lured again into that soul-searching stare. “You don’t think you made me fall, do you?”

Dean hung his head at the accusation, damming himself up.

“Dean, look at me.” It was in his ‘angel of the lord’ tone- not a command, but not a request.

He straightened his spine, then his neck, until he could face Castiel once more.

“Just as I said to my Father: I did not need to be told, only shown the way.” His chin was square and firm; and for a moment, he was the angel he’d met in a dilapidated barn. The soldier who would brook no argument. “I _chose_ this, Dean. All of it. Though,” he conceded with a huff, “I suppose this body isn’t ideal—”

Dean opened his mouth to interject. 

“—but it’s mine. All my choices -all my regrets- are _mine_. And no one- not you, not Naomi, not _anyone_ \- stood in the way of my free will.”

“Free will,” Dean sneered. “Was it your _free will_ that kicked you out with only a couple hundred bucks and a fake ID? Was it your _free will_ that got you killed? _Twice?_ ” He shook his head. “I’m poison, Cas. And you’re not immune anymore.”

“What did you do that was so unforgivable?”

“I abandoned you!” Instead of a protest, his voice came out in a whine. “I chose Sam, and The Mark, and _death_ over you! ”

“Dean…” Cas’ hands settled on Dean’s hips, grounding him. “How many times have you saved the world?”

“I dunno,” he grumbled. “Three? I don’t see what—”

“You believe everyone deserves to be saved. Everyone but you. And why? What sin did you commit that was so grievous?” He linked his hands at the small of Dean’s back. “What about my sins?”

“You?” he scoffed. “You cured diseases, man. You ended droughts. You—”

“Killed hundreds. Maybe thousands. Some under orders, some for my own pride. Still Chuck saw fit to grant me what my heart most desired.” He looked Dean straight in his glistening green eyes.

Dean fought his own conscience. He was not easily taken in by sweet words; but coming from Cas…

“We could list our sins forever, Dean,” he cooed, “or we could start over.”

A tight, warm feeling spread across Dean’s chest, from the lump in his throat to the heart he was sure was jackhammering against his ribs. “Yes,” he whispered. Into Cas’ neck, into his jaw, against his cheek. “Yes. Yes.”

Their mouths slotted together, as natural as breathing. Dean poured all he had into it; to make Cas believe. He gave and he gave, only to find that when he came up for air, the well of love in his chest was still full to brimming. It might never be emptied.

“Say it,” Cas whispered. “Choose me like I chose you.”

“I need you, Cas.” He rested his forehead against his angel’s. “I love you. I choose you. And I want you _here_. With _me_.” He brushed their lips together.

Castiel rung his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him closer still. “That’s all I ever needed to hear.” Dean’s wrapped around Cas’ waist. They sighed in tandem as their mouths met again.

They could have this. Not for the night, not for the morning after, but for as long as they wanted it. Dean, for his part, had years of kisses and touches to make up for. Cas had perhaps an eternity.

They would have made up for lost time on the kitchen counter had Sam not walked in. 

“Well, I see everything’s fine in here,” Sam said wearily. “I _thought_ you’d gone awfully quiet…”

Both men took a step back. Castiel straightened up while Dean —rather unsubtly—adjusted himself with a hand in his pocket. Both were a charming shade of pink. 

“Hey Sammy, where’d that feather go?”

“It’s still in the Impala. I figured the glove box of a warded car in a warded bunker was the safest place for it.”

“Good call,” Dean nodded. “I’m gonna need you to get that out for me.” 

Sam frowned. “Why?” Castiel echoed the sentiment silently.

“Because I’m gonna frame that damn thing and put it over the bed.”

“ _Dean,_ ” Cas began.

“Screw those jerks! If you’re not ashamed, I’m not—”

“Don’t.” His plea was soft. “I have you. I don’t need to be reminded of what I’ve left behind.” He placed a calming hand on Dean’s chest, then turned his head back towards Sam. “Sam, I’m entrusting you with that feather.”

“Me?”

“It’s a very powerful talisman. I know you’ll treat it with care.” His mouth fell into a flat line. “But, if you would…” 

“I understand.” Hide it. Lock it away. Don’t mention it again. “I do.”

“Thank you, Sam.” 

The ensuing silence was syrup-thick, but it pooled in the tiny kitchen in almost no time. 

Sam cleared his throat gently. “So, uh, guys…are we gonna talk about this?”

“’Bout what?”

Sam’s eyes bugged a little before settling under a scowling brow. “About what?? About _this_.” He gestured between the two of them. “You’re…” he sputtered, “How long has this been going on?”

“Ah,” Dean nodded. “So- I’m in love with Cas, and have been for seven years, three months aanndd—”

“Twenty-eight days,” Cas supplied.

“Twenty-eight days.” Dean beamed a mischievous grin. “He’s kinda my gay thing.”

Cas squinted in confusion. “So,” Dean started, “we were on this one case—” 

“So that’s it?” Sam interrupted, incredulous. “Ten years of watching you two stare and bicker and pine like— ” He threw up his hands in exasperation “—like the longest version of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ ever… and Cas just _moves in — **literally** — overnight?_”

“Okay, first of all,” Dean punched a finger in Sam’s direction, “don’t act so surprised. If Crowley had it figured out, so did you. Second, the longest version of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ was that Colin Firth one, and we will not speak ill of wet Colin Firth in this bunker.”

Sam rolled his eyes almost to the back of his skull. 

“And…y’know…” Dean shrugged, “I had some hangups. Stuff that I had to deal with.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “And you’ve…‘dealt with it’?”

“It’s a work in progress, alright?” Dean barked defensively. He inched closer to Castiel, placing an arm around his waist. “But this…this is big. _Forever big_.” His eyes darted from Cas to Sam, not looking at either as he rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll talk, Sam. We’ll sit down with some beers or some friggin’ International Coffees and hash it out. Soon. Just…for now…let me be happy. Okay?” 

“Okay.” Sam let out a small breath. “Okay.”

“You don’t have any objections, do you Sam?” Cas’ face was all concern, like he needed Sam’s blessing even now. 

“Of course not, Cas.You’ve always been welcome.” Sam smiled, if a bit weakly. “You’re family.”

“Yeah.” Dean closed the gap between himself and Cas. “You’re like a brother to him.” His voice dipped low as he leaned in closer still. “But to me…”

He fitted his lips to Castiel’s, soft and chaste. Not a friend. Not a brother. Boyfriend maybe. But for now, just Cas. _His_ Cas.

Sam sighed. “Is this what it’s gonna be like from now on? ‘Cuz I think I miss sublimation already.”

Dean smiled against Cas’ mouth. “Shaddup, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have to thank [TinkDW](http://tinkdw.tumblr.com) for her meta help/kick in the ass to help me finish this thing. And I’m sorry it took so long, everybody! I was sooo nervous about ending this right. [Cuz this is the most quantifiably popular series I’ve ever written- about 500 hits per month so far on ‘Love’. Holy pewp!] (I hope I ended it right.)
> 
> ~~of course, the irony is that it may not exactly be ending. Like, I’ve got like 2k+ words on a smutty follow-up to this, plus a fluffy epilogue that’s 2.3k words and already like 80% done. But I’m not sure if these stories are gonna be chapters or one solo work and then a chapter…call the series completed then add another story...? So I’m saying maybe subscribe to me as an author rather than to individual works if you’d like to read them when they're done.~~
> 
> The smutty bit is here, and it's called ["Eros"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490773). 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who’s commented and reblogged and such. It definitely helped with motivation. **:D**


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